And his secrets were all consuming
by JustBoy-92
Summary: Merlin knew from the moment he entered Camelot that his secret would overwhelm him. He just didn't know how long it would take.


******No idea where this came from. I normally never ever write angst but I got this idea into my head and couldn't get it out and this is what I came up with. This was written very quickly (In like an hour or so) and thanks to fr333bird for pointing out the typos too me! :D  
Warning for character death and an ambiguous but non-HEA. :) **

******And his secrets were all consuming.**

The rope bites painfully into my wrists, binding my hands in a death grip behind the sturdy and rough wooden pillar against my back. I can feel the hundreds of eyes on me, gawking and staring at me. I don't open my eyes.

I don't need to see their faces to know that they will be lined with hatred and disgust and contempt. I don't need to see that look on the faces of the people I once counted as friends and who I would have willingly given my life for countless times.

I know that what is coming is inevitable.

I think I knew from the moment I set foot into Camelot.

I also suspected the moment I realised I'd fallen in love with the Crown Prince.

The writing was well and truly on the wall when I used my magic in front of the whole royal court.

I didn't fight them. I let them take me.

One look in Arthur's eyes told me everything I needed to know. I was no longer welcome in Camelot. I was the enemy.

Just thinking that Arthur could consider me an enemy... Could even believe that I would willingly harm him, kills me inside. Like a hot poker being ripped through my chest. It's agony. Torture.

I don't need to have my eyes open to feel the flames starting to dance around me. Hungrily. Preparing to ravage my body and devour my flesh. A beast waiting to be fed. I can feel it's glee ringing through my core as the magic inside my body – the cause of this torment – seeks to connect with it, to mould into it. I don't let it. I make sure that it's kept locked down. Forbidden. Like it should have been.

I don't need to open my eyes to know that Gaius will be looking at me with sorrow sewn into his aged face. I don't want to see the grief that has added and deepened the lines already marring his visage. I know I will be the cause of that. I just hope that he doesn't get punished for my secret. He doesn't deserve it. He was only trying to protect me.

The fire starts lapping at me. The fire eating away at the material of my ragged clothes and the burning sensation spreading onto my skin. I can feel it blackening and I can almost smell acrid flesh as the smoke starts to rise. Choking me. Smothering me.

I can hear the sobs coming from Gwen. I wish there was something I could do to block the sounds from reaching me. Another person suffering for me. Suffering because of my selfishness. My arrogance. Sweet, innocent Gwen. She shouldn't need to feel this grief. Her spirit is too pure, too natural, to be marred by such blackness. The regret that I have caused this sits as a leaden ball in the pit of my stomach.

The rush of flames draws closer and I can feel the skin on my body blistering as the flames rise ever higher. Swallowing me. I know I don't have long left. I can feel it approaching. The pain has finally hit me. It courses through me like lightning. Awakening every nerve in my body as it screams out for release, for mercy. It never comes.

But I won't scream. I won't let them hear my suffering. I won't put my loved ones through that. And I won't give the tyrant king the satisfaction of my screams to feed his own greed and ignorance. I won't offer him my submission. I kneel before one Pendragon only.

I see my mother in my minds eye. Hunith. The strongest woman I've known. I hate that she will be feel pain because of me. I can't help wonder who will tell her the news. Will it be Gaius? Will he travel to Ealdor himself to tell her? The journey would not be easy for him. Or will Gwen go? Will Morgana even care enough to give her leave? Or will it be the cold hand of Uther Pendragon on a piece of expensive parchment, written in the finest ink with the finest quill using the most chilling and heartless words. The most dangerous weapon the creature has at his command.

It's almost time. I know that. I can feel it in my body. The blackness is clawing at me, pulling me under, and my body is losing its fight. It can't take any more. I don't have long left. I know that.

So I open my eyes.

I keep my head held as high as possible. Defiant.

I look at Arthur. He looks at me.

His gaze is cold, his face a mask of emptiness. That hurts more than the flames consuming me. Doesn't he care? Don't I mean nothing to him? Am I nothing but another evil to him? Another criminal wiped from the lands of Camelot? Another blight on his Father's idiotically idealistic kingdom?

It's time.

I try to smile at him. I try to show him I love him. I want him to know I always will. I will only ever be his, no matter what awaits me. I hope he knows this.

His mask cracks. A show of emotions plays across his features.

Pain.

Hurt.

Loss.

Betrayal.

Pain.

He ducks his head. He turns away.

I lower gaze and my body relaxes. I think of Nimueh and wonder if this is how she felt when I brought down the force of the old religion upon her. I never thought I'd sympathise with that woman.

Arthur's image fills my mind.

Arthur. The once and future king. Albion will be a fine place. Arthur will be a noble and just king, despite his upbringing.  
The final thing I picture is Arthur Pendragon, the one man who will bring peace to Albion and will unite the five kingdoms.

And the last thing I hear is the deep and rumbling voice of the Dragon. Sorrowful and keening.  
_  
"This was not supposed to be your destiny, young Warlock."_


End file.
